


Blame it on the Boys

by mokuyoubi



Series: Bingo Baby 2020 [1]
Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Non-powered AU, Sassy Peter, Shy Peter, Spideypool Bingo 2020, either way Wade is smitten, music festival AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22385041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: Wade is security for a band playing at a music festival, and he knows better than to flirt with the teenaged groupies, but this kid is just too cute.For the Spideypool 2020 prompt Music Festival AU.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Bingo Baby 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1613200
Comments: 19
Kudos: 454
Collections: Spideypool Bingo 2020 Round 2





	Blame it on the Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, because the fic is from Wade's POV, Peter is meant to be 22 in the fic, and though it isn't explicitly stated, Wade is around 28-29.

The tent is packed, sweltering from a combination of body heat and the blistering sun beating down from above. Most of these kids are at _least_ a decade younger than Wade, and several tax brackets higher, full of a reckless youthful energy only the truly, stupidly affluent can possess. Drunk on the hormones and $25 cocktails smuggled into the tent in flasks, a mass of stumbling, writhing bodies just _begging_ for one surge of excitement to turn it into a deadly crush.

The energy of the festival is infectious, ecstatic, almost religious at times. Wade has to admit, if he weren’t on the job, it might be fun to lose himself in the chaos. Let all the pretty young things twine their arms around him and press molly-laced kisses to his lips.

Wade lets his gaze drift over the crowd from his place of privilege on the far side of the barrier. They might as well be the same twenty faces over and over. Long, sun-bleached hair, and the boho chic aesthetic on the women, or the two, equally likely hipster or douchey frat boy looks from the men. Which is what makes him stand out all the more, the guy hanging out at the edge of the crowd. 

Already separated physically, drawn in on himself like he isn’t sure he should be there and definitely knows he doesn’t fit in with the crowd. Faded, well-worn jeans and a tropical button down over a white tee, hair neatly combed, and a pair of blue aviators that he isn’t even wearing ironically. Seemingly untouched by the heat--he doesn’t have the sweaty, wilted look of the rest of the crowd.

Wade is intrigued. He likes to people watch, and this kid does not belong. He’s half tempted to approach and check his ID, just to see him squirm. He’d probably be fucking adorable, with those big eyes going wide and a flush on his fair skin.

Something catches his attention, and Wade sees two women approach. The tall one in with a messy flow of candy apple red curls and a flowy blue romper that shows off miles of tanned skin between the plunging neckline and the high hem. And the petite one, the white and silver of her woven mini dress striking against her dark skin, with her hair in intricate braids atop her head--these two make more sense in this setting. Wade can tell they’re teasing him by the way their lips move and his cheeks colour, just as he’d imagined.

The redhead, at least a full head taller than the boy, rests her arm on his shoulder and produces a joint, waving it in front of his face. Wade straightens, a smile ghosting over his lips. Just the sort of opening he can use, even if no one is really enforcing the rules. The boy blanches and swipes it from her hand, and both girls laugh. His eyes dart around and meet Wade’s, and he freezes like a deer in the headlights. It’s too perfect.

By the time Wade makes his way out of the security area and through the crowd, the three are no where to be seen. It’s probably for the best. Wade has been bored this entire weekend, and bored Wade never makes good decisions, he knows this. Particularly where pretty, far too young boys are concerned.

*

The second time Wade sees him, it’s late on Saturday night--Sunday morning really, at this point. There’s a dance party that probably won’t end until the sun rises, but the kid is seated on the curb outside, legs outstretched before him, hands propping him up, a sort of vacant look on his face. Wade’s seen enough stoned people before to know it’s probably lack of sleep rather than drugs to blame for his current condition. 

When he notices Wade, the kid sits up fast, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, like he’s worried he’s going to be arrested on the spot. It’s adorable.

“You lost your friends,” Wade comments.

The kid jerks his head in the direction of the tent and the strains of EDM pouring out. It lends a surreal feeling to the evening, this space teeming with crowds during the day now empty save a few trailing bodies heading for the exit. The night still except for murmured conversation and the distant bass. The heat of the day has evaporated into a surprisingly chilly evening, with a breeze that ruffles the kid’s hair.

“You know, most guys with two girls like that hanging off them wouldn’t leave them alone in that crowd.”

The kid rolls his eyes. “They don’t need me to protect them. I pity the jerk who tries to start some shit with those two.”

Wade considers making a Mister T joke, and then considers how old it’ll make him feel when it goes over the kid’s head, and then he just makes it anyway. “I pity the fool who hasn’t drank his respect for women juice.”

“Oh right,” the kid says, squinting up at Wade. “That’s from that show my dad watched in the 80s.”

Wade has an inkling that he’s being purposefully trolled, if the sly little quirk of the kid’s lips, there and gone in the blink of an eye, is any indication. “I don’t know,” he shoots back. “I can’t remember--was there television in the dark ages?”

That earns him a full smile, a little shy, but pleased. He ducks his head to his chest and slowly unfolds from his defensive position, extending his legs again. Today again he looks out of place in his plaid and khakis with a plain grey hoodie overtop. The sunglasses are pushed back in his hair, leaving his face unobstructed. He looks even younger than before.

“Are you here about yesterday? I thought pot was legal here.”

“Yeah, if you’re over 19,” Wade said, and pointedly swept his gaze up and down the kid’s body.

In response, the kid just holds up his hand to show off the neon green wristband hiding under the sleeve of his hoodie, marking him as legal. There’s something undeniably flirty about it, with the way the kid looks up at Wade, a little challenge in the tilt of his head.

Wade has been been working for SM for a little over two years, and he knows how some fans will go to insane lengths to try to meet the band. The work mostly entails giving stern looks to teenagers who linger too long after the shows. He’s somehow become something of a celebrity himself among the hardcore fans, who bring him gifts and bat their lashes like that does something for him. Groupies are decidedly _not_ one of Wade’s interests, particularly when most of them are underage.

But this kid. There’s something about him that grabbed Wade’s attention from the start, and won’t let it go. He steps forward to take the kid’s wrist and lift it higher to examine the band more closely. “You wouldn’t believe the shit they come up with to fake these,” he says.

The kid moves quickly, arching his back to rise to his feet in one smooth, graceful motion. Stepping up onto the curb, he’s still several inches shorter than Wade, but standing this close, Wade can pick on the strains of green in the brown of his eyes. “You can breath test me, if you want,” he says, smug and inviting all at once. He licks his lips. “Got one of those thingies for me to blow on?”

 _Jesus Christ_. Wade’s thumb drags over the skin on the inside of his wrist, and the kid stares up at him with almost panicked eyes. He looks like he can't believe those words just came out of his own mouth, but doesn't try to take them back, either. Wade considers how to respond, but his body is already acting without full cooperation of his brain, shuffling right up until his feet hit the curb, and the kid stands his ground, just cranes his neck to keep his eyes locked on Wade’s.

“Peter!”

They both turn their heads to see a big guy stumbling out of the tent. Wade expects the kid to put some distance between them, but he stays put even now. “What’s up?”

“Flash is about to get his ass kicked by some frat guy, and Shuri can only hold MJ back for so long before it turns into a blood bath.”

“I _told you_ we shouldn't have brought him along!”

“His parents are dicks,” the other guy says with a shrug.

The kid, Peter, makes a face that is torn between annoyance and sympathy. He sighs, and looks back at Wade for a brief moment, before turning to the new guy. “Well, go get him and let's take him back to the hotel! The last thing we need is my dad coming to bail us all out and regaling us with tales from his youth.”

Wade watches him go with more than a little regret, and Peter tosses one last look at him over his shoulder before disappearing in the tent. Once he’s out of sight, Wade can actually take a second to process what had actually transpired, and then he’s shaking his head in disbelief at himself. It’s not like he has a whole lot of fucking scruples, but he’d like to think himself above dragging a kid back stage for a blow job.

A voice in the back of his head, leftover from his days as a merc, scoffs at the notion that Wade is above anything, really. It’s not exactly that Wade is hurting for pussy or dick, though. 

There are benefits to being head of security for Sister Margaret’s, even if it’s not the sort of work Wade would have ever imagined for himself. The pay definitely doesn’t hurt, and while Wade’s never had a particular desire to rub elbows with the rich and famous, there’s an appeal once you get used to it. The parties are excellently catered, he never has to pay for his own booze, and he’s surrounded by beautiful people who want to sleep with his boss, but failing that, would happily go to bed with Wade instead.

So it’s all kinds of crazy that Wade can’t stop thinking about Peter. Four in the morning, hoping to catch a few hours of sleep, and all he can see behind his eyelids is the red of Peter’s lips parting slickly for his tongue to dart out. In Wade’s memory, Peter’s cheeks are flushed. His eyes flicker between bravado and disbelief, like wants to be the sort of person who can proposition strange men, but isn’t sure he can actually pull it off. 

Wade can’t say if that’s how it really happened, or just him projecting. Either way, it’s a nice image to have stuck in his brain, if not very conducive to sleep.

* 

Jack, frontman of SM and walking accident waiting to happen, has thrown an exclusive afterparty in the penthouse of an obscenely expensive hotel. The party spills onto the rooftop, with an infinity pool full of mostly naked starlets and influencers, and a DJ is spinning in time with the light show projected on a neighbouring skyscraper.

It’s one of the hottest tickets at the festival, invite only doing nothing to dissuade the flood of wealthy kids trying to buy their way inside. Wade’s team knows better than to break the rules, no matter how high the bribe or salacious the promise. 

Wade himself is technically off-duty, after working backstage earlier in the day, and then barricade during the SM’s set, but Jack plus rooftop and the unending flow of alcohol has the potential to end in disaster, so he’s keeping an eye out.

Nessa’s been throwing him suggestive looks all evening, and that’s tempting, it really is. Wade knows how good it can be with the two of them. It’s a tossup at whether she’s better at banging the shit out of drums, or banging the shit out of him. But it always ends bad when they go down that road, and just like she’s the reason he ended up with SM to begin with, he knows one of these days she’s gonna be the reason they toss him to the curb.

Of course, that knowledge has never stopped him in the past, but Wade likes to think he’s able to learn from his mistakes, no matter how hard the voice in his head cackles over _that_ thought. Fuck that guy.

Also, he’s managed to make it through the day without purposefully seeking out Peter. That’s growth, is what that is.

Instead of giving into Vanessa’s siren call, Wade finds his way to the bar, where Jack is mixing drinks lacking in both enthusiasm and skill, but strong enough that no one is complaining. Jack slams a shot down in front of Wade with a pleased smirk. 

“The fuck is this?” Wade asks, holding up the mostly clear shot with a layer of vibrant red at the bottom and a brownish cloud at the top. He throws it back without waiting for an answer and his mouth puckers from the sickly sweet fruity flavour.

“Brain Hemorrhage,” Jack answers. He lines up another shot glass and starts pouring in amaretto, creme de cacao, and Irish cream. “Perhaps you’d prefer a Bloody Abortion?” He adds a splash of grenadine.

“Christ, Weasel, that’s disgusting.” 

Jack just shrugs, and downs the show himself, and Wade reaches over the bar to grab a bottle of Canadian Club. It’s a fine diversion, allowing himself to be drawn into a debate over who the most fuckable good fairy is from Sleeping Beauty, while the alcohol slowly chips away at what little self control he possesses to keep him away from Vanessa.

It’s sometime after midnight, and Wade’s feeling pleasantly warm and lethargic, just on the right side of buzzed, but thankfully not as trashed as Jack, who’s going to be bent over the toilet in the next hour or so. All the lights are bright and fuzzy from the joint Neena passed around before she’d dragged him off to have his face done up by the makeup artist Jack had hired for the occasion. 

Wade is considering the pros and cons of joining the tangle of bodies in the pool, when a familiar redhead catches his eye. It’s one of the girls who’d been with Peter the other day, tall and statuesque in her paisley bathing suit and matching jacket. The other one is with her as well, looking like a goddess in her afro fusion gown. Wade has no problem believing they’re influencers who’ve been invited. 

But once again, there’s Peter hanging back in the shadows. He’s nursing a drink and casting his gaze around in a hunted sort of way that makes Wade want to harass him. Forgetting about the pool, he sets aside his drink and makes his way through the crowd. 

Peter spots him halfway there and straightens up, looking around like maybe there’s someone else nearby who’s got Wade’s attention. His hair has a little more curl to it from the humidity, and there’s a bit of a sunburn on the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks, that altogether makes him look even younger, if that’s fucking possible.

“It’s just coke,” Peter says by way of greeting, rattling the ice in his cup. It’s a blatant lie, and they both know it.

“This party’s invite only, you know,” Wade says with a grin. “And it’s not really a plus one sort of situation.”

Peter shrugs. “I didn’t think Jack would mind that I brought my friends.” He takes a little shuffling step closer to Wade, covering for his obvious nerves with a sip from his drink.

Wade gives him a dubious look. “You know Jack?”

“Sure,” Peter says. “We always hang out when Sister Margaret’s plays in New York.”

“Riiight,” Wade drawls. He steps closer, too, leaning up against the wall in a mirror of Peter’s posture. “I feel like if I’d seen you at one of the shows before, I’d have noticed.”

It’s harder to see Peter’s blush with his sunburn, but it’s there. Peter’s finger moves back and forth over the surface of his cup, and they’re close enough the movement brushes against Wade’s hand. “I’ve noticed you, Wade," Peter says, in barely more than a whisper.

Wade rewards him with a grin. “Ah, shit, are you one of the little groupies that likes to bring me presents after the show?”

Peter rolls his eyes and takes a step back from Wade to lean out and survey the party. “Hey, Jack!”

Jack’s head whips around for a minute before settling on them, and then his face lights up with a drunken, affable smile. “Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater!” He comes over to grab Peter in a headlock, and Peter easily shrugs him off.

“That’s still not clever,” Peter tells him.

“How’s your dad, kiddo? I’d ask if he knows you’re here, but like he’d have any fucking room to talk.”

“He’s good,” Peter says. “Too busy saving the world to come this year.”

Wade looks back and forth between the two of them in disbelief, and Jack catches him staring. “Hey, Wade, you’ve met Peter--he’s Tony Stark’s kid.”

“No shit,” Wade says, because Stark he has met, and who would trust that guy with a kid?

Jack is distracted by someone else calling his name and melts back into the party, and Peter looks up at Wade with an arched brow and a smirk. “And I _am_ actually legal,” Peter says. “Twenty-two. Or do you need to see my ID, too?”

That seems too good to be true, but Wade’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I gotta be honest, I find your sass a massive turn on,” Wade says.

Peter bites down on his bottom lip to cover a grin. He presses a hand to his face, and his voice comes out embarrassed, a delightful contradiction to his previous boldness. “I’m not usually like this, I swear.”

Fuck, maybe Wade had better check that ID after all. Or maybe it’s just better to ask forgiveness later. He takes Peter by the wrist and pulls his hand away. He leans down close to whisper near Peter’s ear. “The shy shit is really doing it for me, too.”

“Do you have a room somewhere around here?” Peter asks.

Wade’s not sure this is any better a choice than Vanessa, especially if Stark were to find out about Wade defiling his son. But it promises to be a whole fucking lot of fun. Blame it on the loose, easy Bohemian free love vibe of the weekend, or maybe it’s the way his imagination is running wild trying to pin Peter down. 

Wade tangles their fingers together and gives a tug.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning on doing all the squares of my card, and so I decided to go with my least favourite prompt first. It's not that I have anything against it, but I've never been to a music festival and had no idea how to approach this, but I'm actually happy with how it planned out. 
> 
> My headcanon is that there are still elements of the Marvel 'Verse (Tony's still Iron Man, T'Challa is still Black Panther), and MJ convinced Peter to hijack one of Tony's jets, pick up Shuri, and take them to the music festival since she's been hinting at wanting to go to for ages.
> 
> In my head, I'd love to do a follow up where Wade eventually ends up being hired by Tony to be Peter's personal security, because Iron Man can't always be there, and he's made plenty of enemies. But there's too much other stuff I'm writing, so just, think of that as being the ending, if you'd like!
> 
> My bingo card [is on my tumblr](https://moku-youbi.tumblr.com/post/190435801590/my-spideypool-bingo-card-feel-free-to-leave-any)\--feel free to leave suggestions here or there!


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